The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering light across the room. You were curled up on the couch next to Rafe, his arm slung casually over your shoulders, pulling you close. The faint smell of popcorn lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp scent of his cologne—a combination that was undeniably him.

“Alright, what’s next?” he asked, scrolling through the endless options on the screen with the remote in one hand. His other hand rested lightly on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles through the fabric of your sweatpants.

You smirked, nudging him lightly. “You’re the one who said I could pick the movies tonight. Don’t act like you’re bored already.”

Rafe rolled his eyes but grinned. “Yeah, but you’ve got a terrible track record. You actually made me sit through that rom-com last week. What was it called? Something with way too much crying?”

You laughed, leaning into his side. “It was The Notebook, and it’s a classic, thank you very much.”

“Classic torture, maybe,” he teased, giving your thigh a playful squeeze. “No way we’re doing another one of those.”

“Fine,” you said, snatching the remote from his hand with a smirk. “But no complaints if I pick something scary.”

His grin faltered for a second. “Scary? You’re the one who jumps at every loud noise, and then I have to deal with you clinging to me all night.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in close to him. “Oh, and that’s such a problem for you?”

Rafe’s blue eyes met yours, his smirk softening into something warmer. “Not really,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I kind of like when you do.”

His words sent a pleasant flutter through your chest, but before you could respond, he grabbed the remote back and scrolled again. “Alright, pick your scary movie. But when you freak out, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You settled against him, your head resting on his shoulder as the movie started. His arm tightened around you, his hand lazily playing with a strand of your hair.